Tom shrugged and took the paper from my hand. “Maybe she was doing some research on you before your interview?”
I stared down at it and considered, but then frowned. “This newspaper came out five years ago. She wouldn’t have any way to get her hands on a paper copy recently. She’s had this for a while.” I didn’t know what to make of it. No matter what way I twisted the pieces of Agatha’s puzzle, they didn’t add up to a clear picture, and I was beginning to suspect that I was more involved in all this than Agatha had initially let on. Or that she could remember, anyway. “What the hell is going on here, guys?”
Finn shook his head and rubbed my back with his hand, soothingly. “It’s just a photo, Price. Maybe it doesn’t mean anything.”
“A photo of me from years before I’d ever heard of Agatha Bentley or her crazy thrift shop?” I spread my hands wide for emphasis.
Finn relented. “Okay, it’s really weird, you’re right. I don’t know, maybe you have a bigger role to play in Agatha’s life than you think. Maybe you really are a damn witch. Maybe Agatha has the hots for you and has been secretly stalking you for the past five years.” He dropped to the floor beside me. “I don’t know why she has it, Price, but I really don’t think she knows either. She’s crazy, but she wants this mystery solved more than anyone.”
I swallowed the lump in my throat and placed the picture of me down, my eyes failing to pull away from the image of my younger self. I sighed and forced myself to consider Finn's logic. It was an image from ages ago, one that had been in a paper that was distributed all over Oregon, and Agatha had a billion paper cuttings. Who knew why certain things took her fancy? It could be explained by a thousand different reasons.
Flipping through the rest of the papers, I had nearly given up hope of finding anything useful, when I came to a folded piece of yellowed parchment at the very bottom of the box. I lifted and carefully opened it, the paper brittle and thin, like an old archival newspaper that hadn’t been properly cared for.
“What’s that?” Tom asked, looking over my shoulder at the delicate paper. I shrugged as I opened it as carefully as I could, the corners crumbling in my fingers. I very, very slowly unfolded the paper.
“Wow,” I breathed. “The newspaper dates back to 1895.” I pointed toward the date in the far top corner. The image was faded and I lifted it up to the light and looked closer. The air froze in my lungs. “Oh my God.”
Over my shoulder, I heard the sharp intake of Tom’s breath as he realized what we were looking at. I held the paper out for Finn and Pussy to see, while I screamed for the ghost. “Agatha Bentley, get your ass in her now. It’s important!”
Grumbling, Agatha swept through the wall. “What’s wrong with you, girl?” She gave me a disapproving once-over. “I thought my last assistant was shrill, but only dogs can hear you when you shriek like that. You’ll wake the dead.”
She smiled smugly at her own joke, but her grin faded when I held the piece of paper in front of her face. “This is you, isn’t it?” I demanded. I knew the answer already. I jabbed at the date on the clipping and glared at the old witch. “This is you in 1895, Agatha.” My lips felt dry enough to crack as I slid my finger down the page and landed on the smiling faces of the two figures standing next to Agatha in the photograph. “And that’s Bianca and Dot.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
My heart was beating so fast I felt like I was going to pass out. Seeing the craziness my life had descended into on the sepia pages of a centuries-old newspaper was too much. I gaped at the ghost. “Agatha, this image is dated 1895. How is that possible?”
The old woman opened her mouth, but her answer was interrupted by fresh banging at the door. I cursed the journalists under my breath and turned back to Agatha.
Bang, bang, bang.
Tom was the first to jump to his feet as the sound of heaving wood filled the air. A loud voice called through the door, “Priscilla Jones, we have a warrant for your arrest. You need to vacate the property immediately and accompany us to the station.”
I froze, staring up at Agatha, pleading with my eyes. “Agatha. 1895. I need you to remember. What’s going on? How is this possible? It’s 2018.”
Agatha floated before me, open-mouthed for a long second, before she gasped and landed on the floor.
Bang, bang, bang. We were running out of time.
Agatha stared at me with eyes like pools of midnight oil. “I remember.”
Bang bang bang. It sounded as if they were trying to break the door down. Tom, Finn, and Pussy looked as though they were going to explode, and my pulse raced as my heart thundered in my chest. I pleaded with her. “Please, Agatha. Tell me.”
“Price,” Tom cut in. He grabbed my shoulder in a tight grip. “We need to leave. If they get in here, they’re gonna take you away.”
I squeezed his hand, but continued pleading with Agatha. “Please, Agatha. Please. I need you to remember. Just remember!”
Agatha’s eyes opened so wide that I could see the whites surrounding her irises. Her voice was a sweet lilting breeze, a child’s song, and I swore I could her hear the cracked playing of a clockwork music box. “Once we were witches, one, two, three. Friends and sisters for all eternity. Don’t betray your sister, you know that isn’t nice.” Her voice lowered to a vicious whisper and I leaned forward to hear her final words. “Don’t betray your sister, or you shall pay the price.”
I fell backward as the witch threw herself at me with her hands as gnarled as claws. I screamed, preparing for her attack, but she passed straight through me and flung herself down the stairs, screaming like a banshee as she hurled herself through the front door at the cops who had almost succeeded in breaking the door from its hinges.
In a heartbeat, Tom had me in his arms like a football and ran us back toward the rear door. We had almost reached the far wall when he turned back into a cat, and I came slamming down on the wooden floorboards, hitting my head hard. I rolled onto my back and groaned. I looked at the massive black cat.
“Shit, I’m so sorry, Price,” he swore.
The other two cats skidded into the hall and we gaped down the stairs at the front door as it heaved one last time, the hinges nearly bulging free.
I reached for the cats to turn them back into human form, but they jumped back from me. “No,” Pussy shouted. “You go. We’ll take care of them.”
I was frantic. “Huh? No! What are you guys going to do? You’re three cats and a ghost.”
The three of them huffed up, their fur standing on end. Tom’s voice was a low snarl. “Trust us, we’ve got claws and teeth, we can do some damage. We’ll stall the cops. You go talk to Dot and Bianca. I told you that Bianca bitch was wrapped up in this somehow.”
Before Tom could say another self-satisfied word, the door smashed open and splinters flew everywhere. I gasped and sprinted back through the door, slamming it behind me as I jumped into the car. I went to turn it on and realized I didn’t have the damn keys. I looked down and saw them sitting on the passenger seat next to me with a sticky note with a little heart sketched on it. I looked up to see Pussy watching me through a window. He winked before disappearing in a puff of white and brown fur.